e her neighbor at the
dinner-table. When the cousin glanced back over her succession of
neighbors, she came to the conclusion that they had lost in
sprightliness what they had gained in moral worth. Fink was rather
profane, but very amusing; Anton had a certain equipoise of goodness and
pleasantness; Baumann was the best of them all, but also the most
silent. Her conversation with him, though edifying enough, was never
exciting. On Mondays, indeed, they had a mutual interest in discussing
the Sunday's sermon, but there was another tie between them, and that
was Anton.

The good lady could not account for what she called his unnatural
departure. Whether the fault was that of the principal or the clerk, she
could not take upon herself to decide, but she was firmly convinced that
the step was unnecessary, unwise, and injurious to all parties; and she
had done all toward bringing the wanderer back into the firm that tender
hints and feminine persuasions can do to counteract manly perversity.
When first Anton left, she had taken every opportunity of mentioning and
praising him, both to the merchant and to Sabine; but she met with no
encouragement. The merchant always answered dryly, sometimes rudely, and
Sabine invariably turned the subject or was silent. The cousin was not,
however, to be taken in by that. Those embroidered curtains had let in a
flood of light upon her mind, in which Sabine stood plainly revealed to
her gaze. She knew that Mr. Baumann was the only one of his colleagues
with whom Anton kept up a correspondence, and to-day she resolved to
call him to her aid; therefore she took up the report of a benevolent
society lent her by the future missionary, and, knocking at Mr.
Baumann's door, handed it in to him. "Very good," said she, on the
threshold; "Heaven will bless such a cause. Pray set me down as a
subscriber for the future." Mr. Baumann thanked her in the name of the
poor. The cousin went on. "What do you hear of late from your friend
Wohlfart? He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth; even old
Sturm has nothing to say about him."

"He has a great deal to do," said the reticent Baumann.

"Nay, I should think not more than here. If occupation was all he
wanted, he might have remained where he was."

"He has a difficult task to perform, and is doing a good work where he
is," cautiously continued Mr. Baumann.

"Don't talk to me of your good work," cried the cousin, entering, in her
excitemen